


Let's Get Married and Make Some Babies

by EmpressMermalaid



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressMermalaid/pseuds/EmpressMermalaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“But Marco think about it! Tiny little babies with... with like, my face but your freckles and they'd be so cute-”</p><p>[Silly, kind of fluffy PWP where Jean comes back from a night on the town with a crazy idea.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Get Married and Make Some Babies

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh so I may have gotten a tad overexcited with how much attention Take a Number received and smashed this out last night based on an anon prompt someone sent me... it was a lot of fun actually. I'd also like to dedicate this rubbish to the few lovely people I've begun talking to in the last few days - y'all are beautiful people.

Marco liked nice, quiet nights at home. The kind where you just so something simple for dinner, curl up in front of the television and switch your brain right off for a few hours. Grilled cheese in hand, Futurama reruns on the screen, Marco sighed contentedly into the couch cushion he had drawn up to his chest.Yes, this was a nice, quiet night.

His phone buzzed quietly on the armrest beside him. It was from Eren.

“JANEvWANTS T KNOW IF U WANT PIZA.”

“Jane” or rather, a drunken misspelling of Jean, was out with a few friends drinking tonight and Marco was happy to have the apartment to himself for a while. He had received periodic texts from Jean, which progressed from “hope you're having fun” to “ur ass issooooo cute. I gon steal it” and one baffling one that simply read “malk”. Judging by the time he figured they would be coming home soon.

“No, I already ate. Is Bertholdt driving you guys back?”

A few minutes later his phone vibrated unobtrusively again. He swiped the screen to life to see Eren had sent him an image... of what appeared to be a blurry photo directed down his pants. A few seconds later he got another text.

“Shit, DUNT LOOK AT THATISS FOR LEVI.”

Marco frowned. His phone buzzed again. This time it was a photo of Bertholdt's shirt, hanging from a tree in what was clearly the heart of the city, with the tall, tanned shirt's owner standing defiantly below it with beer labels stuck to his chest like bizarrely macho nipple pasties. It was dark and a bit shaky but he was fairly sure he could make out a very red faced Jean with a traffic cone on his head perched upon Reiner's shoulders in the background. 

“BERTL IS WASTEEEEEEEEEED” came Eren's next text, “TEHY HAD VODKA SLUSHIES ND HE DRANK LIKE EIGHTEEN OF THEM.”

Marco briefly considered asking if they needed him to come and get them, but he knew they'd have enough money between them to split the cab fare here. He was about to put his phone down when it lit up again. It was another lopsided picture of Eren's dick. Followed some moments later by another text that just read “SHIT”.

“Stop trying to sext Levi,” Marco replied.

He chuckled audibly when he received a rather dejected looking “ok” in response.

The Futurama credits were rolling when he heard a commotion outside the door, and figured he would assist his darling friends in finding their way to the couch they'd be set up on for the night. He shook his head and almost closed the door again at the sight that greeted him. Bertholdt had acquired several more labels stuck haphazardly to his skin, but had failed in obtaining a shirt. Reiner was carrying Jean and Eren fell face first into Marco's chest the moment the door swung open.

“Marco!” Eren yelled happily, face nuzzling Marco's chest as he spread his arms wide.

“Hi guys,” Marco replied with a grimace, peeling Eren off of him and propping him up against the wall.

Jean stumbled forwards, a huge, dopey smile plastered to his face when his gaze landed on Marco.

“Guys, I'm gonna tell him!” Jean said loudly, loud enough to wake the neighbours...

Marco shushed him and ferried everyone inside.

“Tell him, Jean,” Reiner slurred, flopping down on their couch like a rag doll.

“Tell me what?” Marco was beginning to get worried.

“I've been thinking,” he whispered in what he intended to be an impressive voice.

Marco looked at him sway from side to side with a blissful expression. He cleared his throat.

“About what, Jean?”

“We're gonna get married!”

Marco choked on his own tongue.

“What?!”

His face burned hotly as he started making his way to the bedroom to put the drunken Jean to rest, trying to drag him along with him, stumbling and tripping over his own feet. Jean tried to cuddle him as Eren laughed hysterically, sliding down the wall to land heavily on his butt with a dull  _thump_.

“No, no, no,” Jean mumbled, pawing at Marco's shoulder, “I'm serious. We're going to get married and you're going to wear a floofy dress and Reiner said Annie would be your bridesmaid and I'm gonna hire and tux and Bertl will be a flower girl and Eren and Armin are going to plan the honeymoon and it's going to be so perfect, Marco. So. Perfect.” 

“I don't think Annie would accept being  _anyone's_ bridesmaid – wait, why is Bertholdt the flower girl?” 

“Because I'm prettier than Annie!” Bertholdt laughed woozily, a lopsided pout splayed across his face from where he sat on Reiner's lap on the sofa.

Marco smiled wanly, indulging them a little further since they had clearly been discussing these ridiculous plans for some time during their booze-fuelled exploits over the evening.

“Alright. Well, what's Reiner going to do?”

“Duuuuh,” Jean stared at him, confused as to why Marco didn't instantly come to the same conclusions as the rest of them, “he's the chauffeur.”

“Reiner can't drive.”

“Noooo, uuugh,” Jean tipped his head back in seeming frustration, “he's going to carry you.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Jean was growing heavy, slumped in Marco's arms as he began to slink towards the floor on wonky knees.

“Well, how about we go to bed and you can tell me more about it later?” Marco smiled, looking apologetically at the others though they were laughing boisterously at something else and not paying them much mind.

“Wait, Marco!”

Marco sighed, fully planning on using this embarrassingly drunk behaviour as blackmail and laughing material once his partner sobered up the following day.

“Are you mad?” Jean's bottom lip trembled.

“What? No, why would I be mad?”

Jean mumbled something thickly, completely inaudible.

“What was that?” Marco pressed their cheeks together, finding humour in how suddenly sad Jean looked for no discernible reason.

“Because I didn't buy you a ring,” he sobbed, suddenly unhappy.

“Aww,” he tried to make his expression soft and kind, though he couldn't stop a grin filled with mirth from tweaking at the corners of his lips, “you don't need to do that.”

He and Jean had been together for some time, and he'd proposed at other inebriated times, like when he came back from the dentist completely wrecked on pain medication, or when he was so drunk after Eren's birthday party last year he forgot how to walk, or the time he was sick with a fever that made him hallucinate and babble insanely about gorillas... long story short, Marco had stopped taking Jean seriously when he said these kinds of things. Especially since the conversation never really went far when they briefly discussed those sorts of things sober.

Jean's eyes suddenly lit up.

“Marco Kirschtein,” he said breathlessly, the words rolling around in his mouth as if he were trying them on for size, “Marco, you're going to be Mrs. Kirschtein – ew, wait, no that's my mom, you're... you're... Princess Kirschtein. Empress Kirschtein. Baroness Kirschtein...”

“Jean. Jean. Stop.”

“No... no...” he shook his head wildly, causing his hair to flip around across his forehead as he pressed a finger loosely to Marco's lips where it slid off, smooshing a freckled cheek.

Jean leant heavily on Marco, pressing them both to the wall.

“Marco...” he breathed, his happy, giddy expression changing suddenly again to something much darker.

Marco swallowed, all moisture in his throat seeming to evaporate on the spot as Jean looked at him with those heavy, lidded eyes, golden pupils burning with a deep, sultry fire. His cheeks felt a little warm, and he glanced over Jean's slouched head to the others, though Eren was seemingly digging pizza slices out of his jacket pocket and Bertholdt and Reiner had their eyes closed, possibly asleep, maybe dead. Would have to confirm later.

“We should get married...” he reiterated, talking in a low, surprisingly clear tone though his voice was still heavy with a thick butt of syrup scented alcohol, “Marco... let's make some babies.”

Jean rutted against him, somehow managing to pull off a rather sexy, slow grind despite the fact he was leaning precariously to the left and was staring at a nondescript point somewhere over Marco's shoulder. Marco laughed kind of nervously at the direct statement that made his stomach flutter awkwardly, his face heating to a bright crimson.

“Jean, no...” Marco stammered, trying to pry him off while looking desperately at Eren to help.

Eren's green eyes were focussed on them now as he slowly chewed his lint-covered pizza, eyes a little glassy. Marco wasn't sure he was really seeing them.

“But Marco  _think about it_! Tiny little babies with... with like, my face but your freckles and they'd be  _so cute_ -”

He was rubbing himself over Marco like a cat in heat, brushing his hands all over Marco's stomach and thighs, coiling them around to cup his ass regardless of how much Marco tried to push his hands away with a anxious laugh. Eren was still watching them, and Jean was so drunk he was talking crazy again and the others were right there on the couch and yet still Marco groaned, pained, as his traitorous body began to warm to Jean's touch, his erection betraying his brain as it began to peak in interest against his pants. Half hard he captured Jean's wandering hands and held them still, breathing deep and trying to will his nether region to behave. Jean hadn't stopped talking  _or_ grinding his now obvious boner against Marco's leg.

Armin liked nice, quiet nights at home. Eren was out for the evening and would be staying the night at Marco and Jean's so he was using this rare opportunity of solace to catch up on some of his science-y documentaries Eren hated. He was worried when Marco's number flashed across his cell screen as his ring tone jingled insistently.

“Hello?”

“Armin!”

Marco's voice was strained and relieved when he answered.

“Is everything alright?” Armin asked, suddenly on edge, a thousand possible bad situations that would warrant a call from Marco at this hour running through his head.

“... hah... Jean  _stop_...” his voice was faded as though he was holding the phone away from his mouth, “sorry, Armin.”

“Is everyone alright?”

“... no,  _no Jean it's not the midwife it's Armin_ \- yeah, Armin, everyone is fine. They all got back okay. Hey, listen...  _Jean stop doing that_... could you do me a favour?”

Marco was writhing on the floor, Jean having dragged them down the wall with his weight, caressing every part of his freckled boyfriend he could reach, trying to tug his clothes from his body as he lay on top of him.

“Err... sure...” Armin said hesitantly into the phone, eyebrows furrowed.

“Could you please,  _please_  explain to Jean that men can't get pregnant?”

“What?”

“Please explain to –  _yes Jean, it's true_  – men can't bear children.”

“What.”

Armin held the phone away from his ears as there was a ear-shattering exclamation of “MARCO YOU JUST GOTTA BELIEVE.”

“Jean, men can't get pregnant,” Armin said dryly, bemused at whatever was transpiring at his friend's house. 

There was a ruckus as the phone clearly changed hands through force.

“Armin, yes they can because you would make a great mother. You just believe hard enough man and  _miracles can happen_  and you could teach your babies all that weird science shit you do and it would be so hella, man, and your kids and mine and Marco's kids could grow up together and ride bikes and go to school and shit like,  _think about it_.”

There was the sounds of another struggle, Marco pleading with Jean to let the phone go, though there was a hint of a laugh in his voice and Jean sounded so desperately insistent it was almost endearing. There was a clatter and both Jean and Marco's voices sounded further away.

Jean seemed to be ignoring any of Marco's protests now.

“We can even name them after flowers, I know how much you like flowers, Marco... and take family Christmas card photos and go on family picnics...”

“Jean...”

“Wait...” Jean lifted himself up on his arms, his hips still melded against Marco's on the ground, “I know why you're so against this. You're worried about religion we're going to bring our kids up as, aren't you?”

His face took on a sense of seriousness.

“Marco, we can raise them in your Jewish faith if you want. I know it's important to you.”

“Jean, I'm not Jewish...”

“Well, Christian then! Or Hindu. Or Buddhist or whatever you want to, my love.”

“Jean, that's not the issue. I  _can't_  have children.”

“I know you're nervous but... Marco...” he stared lovingly into his eyes, expression once again dopey, “if you're so nervous...  _I'll bear the children_.”

“No, Jean, you can't have babies either.”

“But the freckles-”

“Jean, please.”

“Tiny freckles.”

“No, Jean, get off me-”

“Itty bitty freckles.”

He cooed something more about “ _teeny weeny wittle freckles_ ” as he wiggled his ass playfully, causing the bulge in his jeans to rub Marco's crotch forcefully, making him gasp, hands clutching Jean's sides with a start. Eren wolf whistled as he staggered to his feet, stumbling his way into the kitchen saying something that sounded like “sustenance required”.

“Marco...” Jean drawled, tongue rolling seductively on the “r”.

Marco wasn't sure how Jean managed to seem so alluring when he was so drunk he wanted to make babies with him and couldn't stand up straight.

“I'm gonna fuck you so hard I'll  _make_ you pregnant,” he purred, deliciously hot and sensual in Marco's ear, making him shiver. A wave of intoxicating fumes washed over him, and Marco swore that it was surely, absolutely,  _it must have been_  the alcohol that was making him light headed and his body melt into the trails of wandering hands. His own growing need gave a little shiver in his underwear at the hot, kind of animalistic words coming from his boyfriend's husky throat turned him on in strange, unusual ways.

He was so surprised by his rebellious body's eager reaction he didn't notice Jean's hands creeping over his chest and yanking his shirt over his head until his face was tangled in the fabric. He was about to struggle to bring the fabric back down over his now naked torso until he felt a hot, kind of slobbery mouth tug one of his quickly stiffening nipples into the caress of a wet, warm tongue. The moan that escaped his lips was embarrassingly loud. 

They tugged each other to their feet, Marco's protests and rejections dying off with each second Jean's sweet, drunken scent curled their fingers of intoxication around his body. Jean's back fell hard against the wall, Marco leaning into his kiss which was a mess of fierce tongues waltzing and lips brushing against one another in a gasping tangle of sugar flavoured kisses. Jean's head was spinning, vertigo flirting on the edge of his vision but he was slowly being overcome by some frantic, maddened need to grind and rut and fuck and it's all he could think about.

They somehow managed to make it to the bedroom, Jean never ceasing his frenetic search for friction against Marco's body who sunk his fingers into all the bare, pale flesh he could reach. They fell against the door, the hinges protesting the added weight as Jean coiled his legs around Marco's waist and bucked himself into the tantalising hardness barely being contained by his strained pants. His naked torso pressed into Jean, making him crazy with desire at the heat and softness being offered by that agonisingly creamy, freckle marked skin.

When they hit the bed, neither of them seemed to notice much as Jean climbed on top of Marco, a carnal fuel pumping through his veins, making him yearn for dominance as he pinned his gasping, writhing boyfriend to the cool cotton sheets. The alcohol in his blood stripped him of all his inhibitions as he began to mouth terrible, dirty, filthy things into Marco's ear, making him gasp and blush as more and more obscene, depraved teasing flitted from Jean's lips in a smoky growl against his messy, now tangled hair.

The pressure building between both of their bodies was becoming unbearable. Jean had already leaked so much into his underwear there was a wet patch starting to seep through the front of his jeans. He tugged them off, kicking them from the bed in a frenzied movement and moaned needily as he noted Marco was shedding his own remaining clothes, pants sliding tantalisingly, beautifully over his sleek hip bones. The second his cock was pulled free from their cloth cage, Jean was on him, tongue lathing his engorged head and making him cry out in pleasure.

He dipped his lips further down the shaft, swallowing his length with hollowed caresses of his cheeks, stroking him fiercely until he could taste the delicious salt of Marco's precome. Marco's hands slid through his fair hair, guiding his movements as he sighed desperately and shivered as he felt himself be milked dangerously close to the edge by the sticky wetness of Jean's mouth. Jean moaned around his girth, energetically devouring every drop of Marco's sweet essence with a burning hunger.

Marco looked the perfect image of seduction, lips plump and pink, parted over heavy breaths, his body arched into Jean's heat as a coy blush feathered across his features. Jean's vision went white with a roaring fire of need, lunging on Marco and wrestling him down onto the bed as he squeaked in surprise and spread his legs eagerly. His cock was red and dripping wet with saliva and the vision of him spread so pornographically over the bed was a fantastic sight for Jean's inebriated eyes.

Sensing Jean's eagerness as the drunk boy dusted his hands over Marco's body, leading him up to his hands and knees, face pressed delicately against a stack of pillows at the head of the mattress, Marco sucked on his fingers, covering them in a dribbling sluice of saliva. He parted his knees wide, a little jolt of confidence spurning him on as he caught a glimpse of the way Jean was eyeing his ass in awe, as though he had never truly seen one before and intended on devouring it whole to satiate an unquenchable desire. He inhaled sharply as he eased his fingers into his hole, feeling his knuckles slip effortlessly into his own warmth thanks to a rigorous night of hard, rough sex he and Jean shared a few nights ago. The dark blemishes left by Jean's mouth were still fairly visible on his collarbones and the memory of being fucked all over their apartment made him twist the digits inside of him with a sudden, searching urgency.

He coiled and spread them, preparing himself though it seemed his body was more than willing to submit. Jean mewled impatiently, squeezing Marco's thighs and ass with agitated rolls of his knuckles, the look plastered on his face one of a man barely holding himself back. Once Marco started thrusting his fingers into his own tightness, gasping and moaning at how good it felt, forgetting for a moment the desperate boy hovering behind him as he bucked into the ministrations of his own touch, Jean lost control of the gossamer thread of his restraint. He pulled Marco's arm away, raring with a mad glint in his eyes as he lapped at the stretched pink pucker of that sweet deep ring, smothering it in a thick layer of lubricating saliva. And with a wild groan he plunged his strained, aching cock into him.

Jean wasted no time, driven to an intoxicated state of crazed pleasure the second his dick fell into the wet, satiny sheath before him. He fucked Marco hard and messy, drunkenness still making him sway a little dizzily, making him miss his mark a few times when he slipped all the way out and rammed back in, making Marco's moans turn to lewd wails.

He draped himself over Marco's back, fingers ghosting over the skin of the boy below him until he was pinching and rolling two stiff, sensitive nipples between his digits. He loved the way Marco's head dipped forward, face pressed to the pillow to muffle a loud cry when he touched him this way. He loved those sweet freckles, the ones Marco was always so self conscious about when they first met, the ones that fell over his shoulders and tumbled down the curve of his back. He loved how Marco had tried to anxiously cover them up the first time they had seen each other naked. He loved the way Marco's neatly parted hair stood up at odd angles when he ran his fingers through it like he was doing now. He loved Marco. He loved Marco's body. He wanted to touch and fuck and make love and join their bodies so wholly and fully he would never feel complete again unless he was buried to the hilt in his lover.

Marco began to pant heavier, running his hips back to meet Jean's forward thrusts as his fingers clung to the sheets below. Jean pummelled him harder, the muscles gripping his length indicative of Marco's building orgasm. Jean himself was close. He had been close since before they started and nothing except the light-headed, booze-filled haze in his mind pushing him to couple with Marco so thoroughly he wanted to impregnate him had prevented him from creaming his pants the second he felt Marco's lips on his as their bodies pressed together on the hallway floor.

“We would make the cutest babies,” Jean panted as the thought returned to him. Marco whined, though the idea was seeming to make him hot now.

“Light brown hair, your deep, beautiful eyes... my sharp angles and your comforting softness...” he murmured, lips pressed to the curve of Marco's back which felt like it was smouldering under his touch.

“And you'd be full of  _me_ , of my essence, joined with yours and I would just want to keep fucking and fucking and fucking you until I had drained every last drop of my come in your hot little ass.”

Marco moaned out a barely audible “yes” as his whole body tensed, balanced on the precipice of mind blowing release.

“I'm going to come so deep in your ass you're going to be  _filled_ with my seed. You're going to have my babies, Marco, you're going to take my cock and mate with me until it happens-”

“Yes,  _yes, yes, Jean oh God put a baby in me!”_ Marco keened wildly, a hot surge of fire and electricity wracking his body like an earthquake as he rode the force of tremors making his stomach clench as he spilled himself onto the bed.

Jean choked out a light moan that tumbled into a series of primal growls as he raked his nails down Marco's back, leaving white hot cross hatching along his shoulders. He rammed his cock down into Marco's inviting heat with reckless abandon, feeling a wild, rabid beast roar within him, urging him to fuck his boyfriend's soft, round ass so hard he made the bed frame shake dangerously.

“Fuck,  _Marco!”_ Jean cried out as his hips snapped forward, feeling his cock throb as he filled that tight hole with a rush of thick, creamy come that clung to Marco's walls, smearing Jean's cock with his own seed.

Marco whimpered, sensitive from his orgasm even as Jean railed himself as deep and as far as possible into his hole, feeling himself be filled to the brim with Jean's hot musk. Those dirty words of Jean's lingered in the air, ringing in his ears, even felt as though they were clinging to his skin. As his breath returned to him and his mind became less foggy he spared a passing “what the hell” at their apparent approval of Jean's crazy, drunk talk as an aphrodisiac.

The next morning was fun. Jean woke up naked, sprawled like a glorious starfish over the entirety of their bed, Marco already up and going about his day. Jean's head felt like someone had smashed it in with a rock and then tried to drown him and it took all his willpower to not simply go back to the blissful emptiness of sleep. When he went to sit up every muscle in his body creaked and groaned in protest, pain coiling around him from every angle. 

“Good morning,” Marco said softly, arms full of clean laundry he set down carefully on the chair in the corner. 

“No,” Jean croaked, sounding like someone had razed his throat with a lawnmower, “not good. Very bad. Bad morning.”

“I wonder why,” Marco teased lightly, only a glimmer of disapproval miring his tone.

“I don't know. The last thing I remember is betting Jaeger I could drink more actual Jaeger than him...” he frowned in confusion, “did I win?”

“I don't know, Jean. So you don't remember coming home and trying to take me as your bride and turn it into a shotgun wedding while we were at it?”

“Huh?”

“You came home and insisted we were going to make some children together and then I called Armin to try and talk some sense into you-” something instantly started nagging at the back of Marco's mind...  _oh shit_ he never actually ended the call with Armin properly last night. He frantically pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Next time you and Jean start having sex could you please make sure you hang up on me first? Not something I want to hear again. Ever.”

He looked at the message on his phone, dated some time last night with a faint blush rising rapidly up his body. He snapped it back into the locked position and jammed it into his hoodie again.

“Uggh, you should have tried to stop me,” Jean moaned, flopping an arm over his eyes as he wrinkled his face up in something that might have been embarrassment.

“ _I did!_ ” Marco replied indignantly, “ _don't you try and blame me for this!”_

“Everything hurts,” he whined.

“ _That's because you did me so hard you tried to make me pregnant!”_

“Did it work?”

Jean was promptly buried under a mountain of laundry and Marco smiled despite himself, unable to stay mad at the man who had spent the entire night in his dead, drunken sleep mumbling about how much he loved freckles.

**Author's Note:**

> The “malk” text is one I legitimately sent to my boyfriend when my friend and I had a girl's night in and decided we were going to hit the Bailey's and cowboys pretty hard so we bought, like, 6 litres of milk only to realise halfway through the first 2 litre bottle that there was no way two girls already full of pizza and fancy cheese could drink that much so I tried to request assistance but all I apparently sent was “malk”. 
> 
> Reinforcements never arrived.
> 
> Just a reminder that you can see more of my shit in the following places:
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ladymermalaid)  
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> 
> Did you enjoy this fic? Chuck me a comment (even if it's just a single, solitary grunt) and you will fill me with such pride and vanity and appreciation I will have no choice but to write more and update more regularly to soak up more of that sweet, sweet recognition. It's that simple!


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